Tales to Last a Lifetime
by Tirya King
Summary: [G1] Some pictures are worth a thousand words. Flattop has proven himself worthy of a hundred oneshots. This is my response to the fanchar100 challenge.
1. Introduction and Profile

A/N: Before I start, here's some info on what this is. On live journal, there is a challenge in a community titled fanchar100. You pick one of three sets of themes and you must write 100 fics on these themes or draw 100 pictures. They must all be centered around one of your fanchars, in any fandom. For this challenge I have chosen Flattop from my story 'Nurture vs. Nature.' Be warned that this challenge will cover points from his entire life and will include spoilers for the story. At the beginning of each 'theme' I will label in the 'other notes' section whether or not it has a spoiler, so please check there first before reading if you don't want to be spoiled. All these stories will be one-shots. That's all I can think of for now. Here is his profile done in the challenge format so those who don't know who he is can follow the stories without being confused. For those who do know who he is, his Description does contain spoilers, so read at your own risk.

OoOoOo

Name: Flattop

Age: 2 million years (when the twins are created; I will write him at different ages)

Hair: N/A

Eyes: Dark blue

Height: 46 feet

Weight: 3.1 tons

Gender: Male

Species: Cybertronian/Autobot

Demeanor: When faced with a situation he doesn't like, rather than bend under it, he will blow it aside with some smart comment. Witty and playful he is generally a friendly person. He has a fondness for organics that comes from working with them for so long, especially the Kikri on Rashim III. However, as soon once someone he cares about is threatened, he stops playing and gets down to business. Very efficient at his job (military Intelligence) he can be a hard person to figure out, often elusive and misleading to both friend and foe. Due to being raised by an unpleasant perfectionist, he also holds himself and others to very high standards. He is not easily intimidated, but his respect, that borders on fear, for his creator ensures he never disobeys him.

Description: Flattop is the first creation (son) of the engineer Triggerpinch. Brought up to be a military bot, he was always urged to be perfect at everything he did. As such, he holds a resentment toward Pinch who did not show much affection, if any, toward him. As he got older, this resentment turned into rebellion and eventually a sort of constant competition between the two mechs. Flattop will do nearly anything he can to push his creator's buttons through smart remarks, and Pinch constantly tries to put his rebellious child back in his place. With the creation of his younger sister, he tried to protect her not only from the harsh outside world, but of their harsh creator as well. Flattop is very protective of her, a trait she finds both comforting and stifling. He refuses to acknowledge any real feelings for his twin brothers, as he feels they are too dangerous and unpredictable. He also develops resentment for them as they grow older for various reasons.

Flattop works in Intelligence in the Autobot army, mostly near the planet of Rishim III in a recon outpost. There he learns to appreciate the native species and gains some affection for them, choosing to take on a few of their terms. He often uses these terms to further annoy his creator. Eventually he was transferred to a teaching position at the War Academy due to his creator's meddling. Even though he dislikes the job, he is an effective teacher and gains much respect for it. Being forced to do this increases his resentment and rebellion toward Pinch, however he still remains loyal to his family for his own reasons. His alternate form while on Cybertron is that of a Kikri fighter plane which is a sleek jet capable of high speeds and limited stealth ability. On Earth his alt. mode is a SR-71 Blackbird jet. He is colored red and blue with a sleek robotic design. His internal design is a more simplistic kind than his other siblings, and therefore tends to have more problems. His main weapon is a medium-sized rifle, though he is capable with most melee weapons and good with smaller guns.

Fandom: Transformers (G1)

Relationships (with others in the series): Triggerpinch (fanchar/creator(father)), Triage (fanchar/younger sister), Sideswipe (canon/younger brother), Sunstreaker (canon/younger brother). Other characters (fan and canon) used as needed.


	2. Tarnished

Title: Fall From Grace  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Tarnished (#1)  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 813  
Pairings: none  
Summary: He realizes that he's not the only one who's flawed  
Other Notes: Flattop is nearly 1 million years old. No spoilers.

Flawed he had called him. Imperfect. Nothing the sparkling did was ever good enough. At first it hadn't been so bad; after all, Triggerpinch had never had a creation of his own before. He'd been eager for a student to mold and shape from the start, and Flattop had been just as eager for instruction. Yet as time went on, young Flattop learned that his creator's patience for new life had dried up quickly.

"Again," the engineer radioed him from the ground, watching the young 'bot go through his aerial exercises in the newly acquired alt form. He was in training, Pinch told him. But training for what? He had never told Flattop and the young one was too nervous to ask.

Doing as he was told, Flattop banked hard to the left, dodging invisible pursuers. He knew better than to let his mind wander, but the endless boring exercises were beginning to wear on him. He knew this already, why were they still working on it? And what made Pinch think that he knew how one should train for dogfights? His alt was a transport vehicle for Primus' sake. He'd never flown under his own power in his whole life, however long it might be.

Yet Flattop didn't argue with him as he moved into a series of barrel-rolls, sure to put in an extra trick or two for his sisters' sake. His grouchy creator probably just watched one too many war holo-vid and thought he knew everything. As usual.

Throwing himself into a forced stall, the young mech dived nose-down at top speed, letting gravity do most of the work. He may not have had this jet form for very long, but already he knew every nuance of it. It was as natural to him as his own robotic body, just as easy to manipulate and move the way he wanted.

A fact that he proved as he purposely buzzed right over his creator's head, hoping to give that old spark a good scare.

He laughed to himself hearing Triggerpinch hiss out a curse as he ducked to the ground. "You little…" his words were quickly left behind as the young one banked to the side again to resume the course. He could hear his sister cry out in delight; she always loved watching him.

Once not so long ago, the engineer may have laughed as well. He might have found amusement that his child and student had mastered flying so well to feel confident in his skills. Triggerpinch did, contrary to popular belief, have a sense of humor. He was capable of laughter and smiles and even affection when the fancy struck him.

Flattop used to live to make his creator laugh. It felt good to know that he could bring about something so rare from Triggerpinch when no one else could. It was why he didn't object too much at being worked so hard. It was why he kept striving to please him; hoping to see a smile of approval, or maybe even a pat on the shoulder.

The more he tried to reach this end, the more futile the endeavor seemed to become. Today looked like it would be no exception.

His paces run and fuel running low, Flattop descended at last to the ground where his creator waited. Another bot was with him, a mech he'd come to know as Strikelast. Pinch's old friend often came these days to watch Flattop fly, sometimes offering tips on how to improve his technique or speed. The engineer said it was because he would be going to the War Academy soon and many people would be watching his progress.

When he was younger, Flattop had never questioned these explanations. Today and many times in the past few months, the sparkling had often thought twice about what he believed.

True to his prediction, Pinch was less than amused with his little 'smart-afted' stunt earlier. But from the bemused expression on Strikelast's face, at least someone had appreciated it for what it was.

He let the harsh words wash over him, barely letting them make it into his audios. What did it matter what the engineer shouted anymore? It was all the same slag filled with the same criticisms and insults. All it boiled down to was the fact that Flattop just wasn't good enough. Flawed. Imperfect.

Once he might have done everything in his power to please his creator. Triggerpinch always seemed to hold the answers before. He had been perfect. But now that the sparkling was older, he could see him for what he was. A mean-spirited mech who acted twice as old as he actually was. A mech who didn't know half of what he said he did and who would find himself alone if he continued to be the way he was.

Flawed. Imperfect. Just not good enough.


	3. Love

A/N: It is official: I am physically incapable of writing anything short.

Title: Extra-curricular Instruction  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Love (#2)  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 2,024  
Pairings: none  
Summary: Though the actions may change, the reason stays the same.  
Other Notes: Flattop is about 3.5 million years old. Warning: Spoilers for 'Nurture vs. Nature'!

This was the last time he would do this. He meant it this time, no more after tonight. They were too much trouble, and were wearing on everyone's patience. He couldn't keep doing this.

Flattop both appreciated and hated the fact that the instructors and cadets were all housed in the same buildings. The mechs in one and the femmes in another. Originally this was done to keep the cadets in line when not in class, maintaining a perfect level of discipline throughout their time here. Currently it was a pain in the young instructor's aft. At least he didn't have to travel far to see to his misbehaving brothers. But why did he have to be the one to do it each and every time? Just because they shared the same creator did not mean he was any more capable of dealing with them than any other instructor here.

Coming to the last door on the right, Flattop rapped on the hard surface impatiently. He had better things to do than play twin-sitter for the third time this month. They were 5th Levels for Primus' sake, in the middle of their schooling. One would think they could act older than 1st Levels by now.

"Oy! It's open!"

You would think, wouldn't you?

Walking into Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's dormitory was like walking through a recent battlefield. Random… things were strewn about the floor making walking a dangerous feat at best. In fact, the only time Flattop ever saw the floor of his brothers' shared room was during inspection when it was absolutely flawless. This was much to the inspectors' displeasure as it seemed to be their personal mission to bust the twins on regs.

"Oh, it's you," Sunstreaker welcomed in his usual 'courteous' manner. Dismissing his older brother entirely, the yellow twin turned back around to his datapad, feet propped up on the desk and leaning back in the old chair.

"So which is it this time, Topper?" Sideswipe asked casually, reclining on his berth lazily. He didn't look at all surprised to see the elder mech at the door. "The bonding agent on Tweaker's chair, which she laughed at by the way? Taking Spinshot down a few notches? Oh, wait, don't tell me," he gasped in mock-surprise. "It was that Decepticon flag on the pole at the parade grounds yesterday. Sunny, I told you we needed better alibis."

The other cadet just shrugged, not paying attention at all. "My mistake."

Flattop cycled another breath of air through his intakes. They wanted him to explode. They wanted him angry so they could have a reason to fight back. Ever since he'd been hired as an instructor to the war academy, thanks to that meddling creator of theirs, it had been their goal to drive him away. He was harsh on them, harsher than on the others, and the three of them knew it. Any sort of affection they might have felt at their older brother was gone, replaced with bitter resentment. The flier had been their only ally during their time as sparklings, their one defense against a harsh and sometimes cruel parent. They thought he'd cared about them, which made the betrayal that much harder to handle.

Didn't they realize that while his methods of teaching them were different, the feelings behind them weren't?

"You have to stop this, you two," he insisted, forcing his wings to relax. He was so tense, they were nearly parallel to the ground. "There's only so much trouble you're worth, you know. High command is…."

"High command is slag," Sunstreaker retorted, putting down his datapad at last. He swiveled in his chair to glare at the offending mech. "We keep hearing about this mythical 'high command,' but if they're so interested in their precious commissions, why don't they get off their slagging pedestals and deal with us themselves?"

"They need us too much," Sideswipe added coolly. "We all know that. We're worth good money to them; Pinch won't let us forget that."

"You're not worth that much," Flattop snapped back. "Keep causing trouble and see what happens. You don't want high command to come deal with you. They have better things to do than deal with dumb little cadets."

"So they pick dumb little instructors to come deal with it instead?" Sunstreaker asked, giving him an icy stare.

Flattop paused for a moment. "I wasn't told to come here. Everyone's fragged off by you and apparently I'm the only one who seems able to talk to you without getting their chassis rearranged."

Sideswipe shrugged, hitching his shoulders and looking right at his elder brother. "Well, you and Pinch did teach us well, didn't you?"

"Don't blame your bad attitude on me, Red." He hadn't meant to let the old name slip out, but slip out it did. "We also taught you to be obedient."

"I don't know, Topper," Sideswipe said casually, but the usage of his very first name did not escape him. "We obeyed and it didn't stop us getting shoved into those damned closets all the time, did it?"

"Life's unfair, you know that. Don't make it worse on yourselves by acting up. Because they won't stand for much more of this. Are you purposely trying to get yourselves deactivated? Because at the rate you're going, you're asking for it. What about you?" he asked Sunstreaker. "You willing to test how long they'll put up with you?"

"They wouldn't deactivate us," the yellow twin said in a strong confident voice, but the sudden alarm in his optics told a different story.

"You're bought and paid for by the military," Flattop crossed his arms. "What are you good for if the military doesn't want you?" He wasn't entirely sure that that's what would happen. They weren't slaves after all, but civilians. Perhaps they would just be thrown out of the academy. But Pinch wouldn't take them back, that was for sure. And neither Flattop nor Triage could afford to either. The twins would be entirely on their own to face whatever the galaxy had in store for them. They were tough, but Flattop didn't know if they were tough enough for that.

Sideswipe stood and walked toward the taller mech, his head cocked to the side as he tried to figure the other out. "Why do you care what they do to us?"

Flattop hadn't expected this. He'd expected more of what he'd had to deal with every time before: anger, sarcasm, apathy… He could deal with that, he'd been dealing with that ever since he took the position at the academy. What was with the new line of questioning? "Who said I cared?" the red and blue mech returned defensively, trying to return to his position of 'big mean teacher.' His left wing twitched a little.

Sunstreaker, seeing this, stood up as well, though he didn't approach just yet. "Why keep coming over and over to tell us to knock it off or we'd be smelted?"

"This is the last time," was the sharp reply. "Like you two tin-heads listen to me anyway."

Sideswipe crossed his arms and looked pretty pleased with himself. "Oh yeah? That's what you said the last ten times. You said you weren't going to waste your time anymore with us. Yet here you are, again, telling us to knock it off. So which is it, Topper?"

Now the other wing twitched. Primus, he hated being put on the spot like this. Normally he would bite back with some cheek, but these two were too smart for that. They wouldn't let him get away with it.

"Who's side are you on anyway?" Sunstreaker demanded, striding forward to stand next to his twin. "Because you sure as slag ain't here because of the other instructors."

"I… I don't want you two to get hurt," his voice was lower now, as though someone might hear. The former Intell bot was under strict orders not to show any leniency when it came to his brothers. But it couldn't be helped. They needed to hear this, even if it was just this once. "You two keep screwing around, and they're just going to get rid of you."

"Why do you care?" Sideswipe asked again, very slowly and without breaking his gaze.

"You're my slagging brothers, of course I care," Flattop snapped, his wings going rigid. "Me and the others are trying to train you to keep you alive, so you should start listening." Almost peevishly, as though embarrassed, he added, "how else am I supposed to train you, you little retro-rats? I can't do slag about your situation, ok? Pinch, and the Academy, and the Prime… it's out of my hands. This is the only way I can protect you."

Whatever answer they had been expecting, this was towards the bottom of that list. Not once had their elder brother even hinted that he might be doing this for any reason of his own. To them, he was just another puppet of their creator. A puppet they'd been stupid enough to trust as sparklings and who they couldn't seem to escape now. He was hardest on them in class, he'd alienated them from the other students, and he constantly breathed down their necks at every indiscretion. And not once had they ever thought there was any real purpose to it.

"If you screw up, you're gone," Flattop continued when his brothers made no response. "They might not deactivate you, but they'll get rid of you some other way. If that happens, you need to be ready to take care of yourselves because none of us can be there with you. If you aren't thrown out and you do make it into the army, you still need to be as strong as we can make you. It's the only way I can think of to keep you alive. So I won't apologize for it, because I'm not sorry for any of it. Red, Yellow, I'm asking you to stop causing trouble, do you understand why?"

It was rare that he spoke so candidly to someone else these days. For many many years the only way Flattop could cope with the life he'd been given was to bury any part of it that hurt. Harsh words needed to be cast aside. Wounds needed to be shrugged off. If he allowed himself to take that constant guard down, it would give someone an opportunity to strike. And these two definitely knew how to strike to kill; they'd been trained by the master after all. But they had to understand him, even if only for one single moment in their entire lives.

Stepping forward slowly, the young jet made it into what he often referred to as their 'bubble.' Their personal space that no one could enter but the other twin. As expected, he saw their bodies tense and their optics flash in warning; an automatic response that came from years of harsh training. Bad things happened when others came near them; it wasn't even a conscious thought on their part. Just an instinctive truth. He was risking some serious maiming by doing it, superior or no superior.

They knew this as well. And it was for this reason that they allowed it. He trusted them not to hurt him for coming so close and in turn was asking them to trust that he wouldn't hurt them either.

No more words were said that night, but he knew that they did understand, if only for a moment. The instant he retreated from that 'bubble' to leave the room, he was once again Flattop: instructor. He was going to be hard on them in his class, and breathe down their necks at every opportunity. He would report them to Pinch for misbehavior. If cadet or cadre or soldier or OTC picked a fight, he would let it happen and not lift a finger to stop it. But at least when all that happened, somewhere in the back of their minds they would understand why.

He was their brother, and he loved them. This was just his way of showing it.


	4. Hate

A/N: 5 points to whoever understands why I gave this the title I did. I decided to show both sides of the relationship between Flattop and the twins. Yes, he loves them. But whoever said he didn't hate them as well?

Title: Pygmalion  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Hate (#3)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 1,050  
Pairings: none  
Summary: Who hates who the most, and which is most deserved?  
Other Notes: Flattop is about 3 million years old. Contains spoilers!

For a while he didn't speak, silently watching each pair as they worked through the sparring session he had set up. Occasionally he would correct a student's footwork or grip on a weapon, but there really wasn't much he could work on at this point. These were just First Levels; the most these sparklings could do was bat each other around a bit.

Primus, how did he get stuck with this job? Well, he knew how. Pinch had some nerve getting him transferred. He'd loved his job, he'd loved working with the organics, and he loved working in espionage. Then those two had to come along and suddenly it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that he was his own mech with his own job and his own life. It didn't even matter that he was under no obligation in any way to help in their rearing. He was roped in anyway, and suddenly his universe had to revolve around a pair of twin warriors-to-be.

Granted it had been a couple million years since he himself was a First Level at the academy, but had he honestly been like this? In their own pair, as always, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were doing pitiful attempts at their own sparring session. Sideswipe could barely keep his two feet under him long enough to fight back against his twin whose mind wasn't all there anyway. Sunstreaker always found something to catch his optic, and his mind swiftly followed.

Yet even with those two moving like blind, lame turbo-foxes, it was still worlds better than any of the other cadets. Flattop would give his creator credit; he knew what he was doing when he made them.

As opposed to him. As the first, Flattop was the 'test run.' The prototype to Triage and to the twins. He was given no great advantages upon his creation. The materials he was made of were nothing special. His senses weren't finely tuned nor were his internal systems carefully ordered. No, everything he had ever done was due to will alone. Everything he'd ever achieved, he'd earned through hard work and perseverance and taking the long way.

As he passed the twins during his walk around the room, he couldn't help but notice they shifted away slightly. He made optic contact with Sideswipe who grimaced and stepped back a little. Sunstreaker turned to see what it was that made his brother falter, and he too made a face. Flattop forced himself to break any optic contact with them and continue moving. The little ones were foolish to believe he'd be easy on them just because he was their brother as well as teacher.

"You all looked terrible out there," he announced when the students had finished batting each other around for the time being. "Your form was lousy, your effort even worse, and your skill was downright embarrassing. You two, however…"

The twins glared at him silently as he singled them out, again. Nothing he said was untrue, yet in front of the other students he would be sure to point out all their good habits. How they were the best of the class. They were swifter, smarter, stronger, and all around better than any of the other cadets he worked with and he made sure everyone knew it.

Oh how they hated him the most when he did that. Singling them out as the best made the other students resentful of them. They were ostracized from them, not tolerated any more than absolutely necessary. And Primus help the cadet who tried to make friends with them. Lousy teacher pets, they were only praised so much because they were the teacher's brothers.

It was a terrible thing to be pushed away from all of their peers. And it was done with surgical precision. Purposely done to keep them apart from their fellows as instructed by Triggerpinch. It kept them sharp and creative, and it made them think for themselves. It kept them closer by default as well, a constant goal of course. And it made them so incredibly lonely that Flattop almost regretted doing it to them. Almost.

He could never imagine doing such things to his sister. She was kind and gentle; she would snap in half at such rough treatment. Logically he should find it just as abhorrent to treat his brothers so. After all, they were still so young and dependent…

"More of you should watch those two as they fight," he went on, reveling in the misery of the two he singled out. "At least they have some sort of sense out there."

They should be thanking him on bended knee for what he was doing for them! He was giving them everything they would ever need to survive. Their elder brother had had to learn it all himself through trial and error, yet he was giving the lessons right to them. Giving these lessons in a safe environment where no serious harm would come to them. They didn't have to try to be perfect; they would become perfect through his expert molding. It was never a question of whether or not they would be good enough in the end.

Everyone's lives stopped when it came to the twins. Pinch's universe was dedicated to training his perfect weapons. Circuitweaver and Triage fixed every little boo-boo, mothering the pair until they became too violent for the femmes to handle. Even Flattop had to stop his entire life for the twins. Ripped from his dream career to teach these little ones how to hold a sword correctly, forced to take on this near alternate personality to manipulate their schooling days… These past years had not been kind to Flattop and he did not intend for a nanoclick of them to be kind to his brothers either.

He had never once had the kind of attention they had. Would have killed for it. He was always 'that first sparkling.' The one who had to learn everything on his own and who could never be good enough for anyone, least of all his own creator. Those ungrateful glitches were being given everything while he received nothing! And then they dared to resent him for being given such gifts!

He might be their brother, but sometimes he really hated them.


	5. Fire

Title: En La Ardiente Oscuridad  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Fire (#4)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 2,409  
Pairings: none  
Summary: The world is on fire, and he must find her amidst the chaos.  
Other Notes: Translation of title: in the burning darkness. Flattop is around 4 million years old. Contains spoilers!

"Triage!"

It was hard to see. There were hundreds… thousands of people running all at once in every direction with the billowing flames offering the only light. There were moments where the bombs would stop, and all was dark but for a burning building or two. Then they would start up again someplace else. Nowhere was safe because no one knew where the clouds of flames would erupt next.

"Triage, where are you?" The jet ducked and covered his head as bullets zipped by his head, invisible in the darkness. Others weren't so quick and fell at his feet, crying out in pain and fear. He couldn't be bothered with them right now; he had to find his sister!

This wasn't supposed to happen! This area was a no-fire zone; they'd had an agreement! In the 5th District there could be no fighting. There were so many academies here where both factions had students. Both war academies were here as well, built before the war started. It was just understood that the young ones were not to be attacked like this. Primus, one couldn't even take their own weapons into the district!

Whether or not this was supposed to happen, it was happening all the same. The Autobots were taken completely off-guard, the buildings destroyed in minutes. One would think that the Autobot War Academy wouldn't fall so easily, yet here they were, running for their lives. There were too many young ones who had no idea how to fight back.

Those that were still alive that was. The dorms were hit first, at a time when most of the cadets would be inside. Lucky for Topper, he'd been out walking the grounds at the time and hadn't been in his room on the top floor when the first missiles hit. As he ran forward, he spared a thought to his twin brothers. There was no way they could have survived as they lived on the 10th floor, so he didn't bother going through the smoking remains like some of the medical students were. He didn't need to see their charred, burnt bodies to know that they were gone.

"Triage!" He thought his vocalizer was going to short out any moment, but he couldn't stop. She had to be safe. She couldn't have died like their brothers, she couldn't have! Why did the 'Cons have to pick the one night where the field medics in training were staying at the Academy? They were just doing simple exercises on the parade grounds with a few volunteer cadets. Nothing was supposed to happen!

"Sir!" a frightened shout cut through his mental panic for a moment as he recognized its source. Off to the left, huddled against the energon canteen buildng, was a pair of cadets. Both from one of his 1st Level classes.

"Whirlpool," he frowned. "Downdraft?" What were they doing here? Every last part of him wanted to just leave them and continue his search for Triage, yet he knew he couldn't. They were just sparklings really, barely into their first million years of life, and he couldn't leave them.

"Sir, what should we do?" Downdraft asked, in as strong a voice as he could muster. The little black femme next to him huddled close, half her body hidden behind his.

He would have answered, but a new spray of bullets came their way with the sound of hundreds of metallic hornets hitting the walls and ground. More screaming. A stray shot hit one of the mess's generators, sending a new fireball to join the others in the sky. Throwing himself on top of the two young ones, Flattop imagined it must look like great blooming flowers of orange and red from the sky. Blossoming petals of flames thrown against a black sky.

Whirlpool whimpered, but bravely held back any cries. Good; Flattop didn't think he could deal with any more stress right then. If there was one thing he couldn't deal with, it was a crying femme. He hissed in pain as the fire roared over his back for a moment, searing delicate wings and circuits, before creeping back up the building. His audios threatened to short out from the great roar that filled them.

His dark blue optics activated in sudden alarm. They had to get out of there before the stores of energon were hit! He shoved the two cadets out from under him and toward the largest building, currently being bombarded by Decepticon Seekers. "The armory! Run!"

"But, sir!" Downdraft tried, holding onto Whirlpool with concern in his face. "She's hurt."

Not bothering to see just how badly hurt, Flattop took the femme in his arms and raced away from the canteen. "Go, go, go! It's gonna blow!" He didn't care about the missiles or bullets anymore as he pushed the purple mech forward, following on his heels. The mess hall was a virtual bomb and they had to get away as quickly as possible! The young instructor would have flown, but any hope of that had been shot to the Pit when the generator's explosion damaged his back and wings. It was all he could do to even be upright let alone anything else.

The armory wasn't far, thank Primus. Attached as it was to the main training hall, it was still under heavy fire. But it was secure with the thickest of walls, and nothing near it that would explode, so that made it good enough for now. It wasn't like Flattop was going to stay there anyway. Just hide the sparklings away and then head back out into the chaos. Even if he were gunned down like some frightened civilian, he was going to find his sister.

He didn't look back as a giant rumble, crack, and explosion filled his audios. A bright orange and white light lit up the entire campus for a split second, making the black Inferno of the grounds visible. For an instant, most of those running through the chaos paused, optics shining in terror and clutching wounds as they stared at the sight. Shrapnel and debris from the former canteen rained upon those still seeking shelter, some making contact and some doing more than just making contact. A sharp something sliced through the back of Flattop's right calf, but he didn't stop, didn't slow down. Downdraft was lucky enough not to get hit at all, and Whirlpool remained safe in her teacher's arms.

Almost there…

It seemed he wasn't the only one with the same idea. Many were headed toward the armory, some wounded, others just frightened. A few even went to grab what weapons they could before heading back out. The older students, mostly. A few instructors even. Stupid, the lot of them. But they were no longer his concern, they could do whatever they wished. It was their own death they were inviting.

A shimmering slick he noticed was running down his front and it was only as he entered the gymnasium's armory that he realized it. Looking down for a moment, slowing his mad rush down to a painful trot, Flattop saw that Whirlpool leaned her head weakly against his chest, a steady if slow stream of liquid leaving the mangled stump of her left arm. When had she gotten this done? Was it before he came across the two? As he was running with her? Who knew and what did it matter at this point?

The armory was crowded to the brim with mechs and femmes. Some huddled over others fearfully. Some trying desperately to repair what they could. Others called out names, hoping to find friends or family that might have made it. Then there was a sight that made Flattop let out a desperate breath of relief. Medics! There were nearly two dozen medical students and at least one of their three instructors. It seemed they had come there right away from the parade grounds when the attack hit. Most were not damaged, and those that were, would probably recover. Those that were able were trying to help the survivors that straggled in. Perhaps his sister was among them! She had to have made it as well!

The one instructor there, huddled over his own patient, looked up now and then to bark orders to his students. There was a terrified, almost desperate look to his face, but his voice was strong and even. This was a mech who could handle a high-stress situation and handle it well. Shifting the femme closer to him, Flattop made his way to the doctor, seeing him as the best chance for her survival. At his heels followed Downshift, worried for his friend's life.

"I have a femme here that needs help," Flattop reported, in a voice much too shaky for his own liking. The instructor turned to look at him, his black chevron glinting slightly in the dim lighting someone had set up. For a moment he looked as though he would snap back at him, but in the end the medic nodded.

"Set her over here." His optics scanned over her body quickly even as his hands moved on the patient below him. "Do what you can to block the wound till I can get a look at it."

Oh no, he wasn't staying. He wasn't a medic, and at the moment he didn't even want to be a teacher or a soldier. Right now he was a brother. An absolutely terrified brother. "Look, I'd love to stay and help, but I can't. I have to…"

"You'll block her wound or I'll replace her arm with yours!" the medical instructor shouted furiously, the desperate look momentarily growing before settling back down. He'd never been in a situation like this, that much was obvious, and the stress was threatening to make him snap. The fact that he was holding up so well now, and making his frightened students act like seasoned field medics, was a true credit to his mettle. Flattop, in the back of his mind, wished he could be that strong.

He stared into the other's optics, respecting him, but not giving a slag what he thought right now. Another flash of orange light sifted through the entrance, but other than a few gasps from those assembled, nothing changed. Flattop and the doctor didn't even flinch. "Where's Triage?" he demanded, in a stronger voice than before. "I'm not going to stay here while she…"

"She's doing her job," the white doctor hissed back. "Now you sit down and shut up and do yours!"

A quick scan of the room assured the red and blue mech that his little sister was nowhere inside. Which meant only one thing…

"You sent her out there?" he demanded even as he obeyed the command. Setting Whirlpool on the ground and clasping her wound to ebb the flow, his body was much gentler than his words. "Are you crazy? She's in no condition to…"

No sooner had the words been said than more bots dived into the makeshift bomb shelter, a golden and ivory femme among them. There was a mech in her arms. Or rather, there was a mech she was struggling to carry in. She was no large femme by any means, and it was all she could do not to buckle under the weight. As it was, the system rush of what was going on probably had a lot to do with it.

Dropping the mech as carefully as she could to the ground, she panted for a moment before looking up at her instructor. "Do you want me to go back out there, sir?" she asked, trembling like an overworked piston. Her voice was barely a whisper, and her optics were shining so bright in horror that they were nearly white. But she still offered to go back into that hell. Flattop, in the back of his mind, wished he could be that brave.

Her teacher, in an act of pure mercy, shook his head. "No, you've done enough, kid. Rest a cycle, ok?"

The femme nodded, gratefully sinking to the floor next to the unconscious mech she'd brought in. Flattop could stand it no longer and rushed to her side, breathing her name in desperate relief. She only had a split moment to see that it was her brother who moved to embrace her, and an equal look of relief came across her own exhausted face.

A muffled curse sounded in the background as the teacher, whatever his name was, moved to Whirlpool's side now that her wound was no longer being looked after. Yet he didn't have it in his spark to call Flattop on it. The younger mech was currently holding his sister tightly against him as though he might break if she left. There was too much tragedy tonight; he would let the siblings have their peace for now.

No more words were said that night between the two of them. Triage clung to her older brother and trembled and cried. He let her, ignoring his wounds even though he knew he might regret it later. With every missile or bomb that came closer to destroying the armory the femme flinched and gripped a bit tighter around his neck. Once she had let go of her business-like mask, it was all she could do not to fall apart completely. Yes she was in training to work on a battlefield. But this was just too much too quickly and she couldn't handle it all at once. He held her tightly all through the night, unwilling to let her go and risk losing the one precious thing in his life. Their brothers were surely dead, hundreds of others with them, and they had no wish to join the growing pile.

The older medic, who was yet young for his profession, disturbed the pair only twice that evening. Once to tell Triage that her two other teachers had finally been found, dead. And once to tell Flattop that the little femme he'd brought in hadn't made it. Neither time did either sibling make a reaction, though inside they reeled from the absolute helplessness of it all. No one knew if help was on the way, if the Autobot army cared enough for its future to come to the Academy's aid.

All anyone knew was that the world was burning that night. The whole planet, up in flames. And nothing could put it out.


	6. Snow

A/N: Um… belated Merry Christmas anyone? Heh… big thanks to PuraJo and Des for helping me with this when it just didn't want to be written.

Title: Silent Night  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Snow (#5)  
Rating: G  
Word Count: 2,231  
Pairings: none  
Summary: Christmas is a time for family, and this family might have its chance at a fresh start.  
Other Notes: Flattop is around 10 million years old. The tree is a nod to DesertCat, and her x-mas fic 'Gift of the Heart' (for those of you who don't recognize said nod.) Contains spoilers.

He hadn't believed them at first. It sounded like some sparkling's fantasy. After all, he'd been to hundreds of worlds and he'd never seen anything even remotely close to what Mirage or Jazz or the others had described. This 'snow' thing seemed just a little too far-fetched.

Flattop had just gotten out of duty for the day. To his annoyance, said duty had involved being tucked away in the Ark all day without a good excuse to go stretch his wings at all. Now that he was finally off-duty, he wanted nothing more than to grab a nice large mug of high-grade and call it a day. However, Jazz had insisted otherwise and sent him outside.

"The fresh air'll be good for you, Top," he had said with a grin. "B'sides, I don't think you've seen a good snowfall yet."

He hadn't seen any sort of snowfall before actually.

Truth be told, as he stepped outside into said snowfall, the descriptions of the others hadn't done it justice. The flakes fell in lazy swirls, large and wet as they descended to the ground. Already there was a fair blanket of white glittering blue under the night sky, covering nearly everything in sight. And it made a strange 'scrunch' noise when he stepped out into it. Everything was still and calm.

Everything except a red and yellow pair of mechs as they struggled with what looked like tiny lights on strings.

"No no, Sunny! You're getting them all tangled!"

"Slag off, I am not!"

"You are too, now hold still while I… Sunny, stop moving!"

Curious, Flattop wandered over to where his younger brothers were. True they weren't exactly on speaking terms with him, and he had no real reason to get involved. But during his stay here on Earth, the Blackbird jet had come to appreciate the strange diversions his twin brothers managed to create for themselves and others.

"What are you doing?" he asked. They were on either side of a tree, he saw as he drew closer. Tangled in red and golden lights, Sunstreaker was cursing up an impressive storm while his twin tried to laugh and untangle him at the same time. Hearing their elder brother approach, the twins ceased their movements and looked at him warily. Not unlike a pair of turbo-foxes trying to determine whether they were the hunted or the hunter.

"What do you want?" Sideswipe asked in a flat voice, neither polite nor harsh. Testing.

Ever since he had been assigned to Earth, Flattop had been walking on fine wires around his brothers and they around him. They had no reason to accept him with anything less than hatred, but as they hadn't seen him in so long, most of the sting was taken out of the wounds. As such, an unspoken 'cease-fire' had taken effect between the twins and the older mech. If one side left the other alone, there would be no need to come to blows. He was breaking his side of the truce by seeking them out like this.

"I just want to know what you're doing, baby brother," he teased lightly, holding his free hand up while the other innocently held onto his mug. "No harm in that."

Sunstreaker scowled at his cheek, but hadn't really expected any other sort of answer. Some things never changed with time. "What does it look like we're doing?" he tried his best to look intimidating even covered as he was in multi-colored lights.

"Looks like Sideswipe is laughing at you while you parade around like a walking billboard sign," the other said honestly. "Is this some sort of new ritual you two have taken up or is it a one-time thing?"

"We're setting up a Christmas tree, smart aft," Sunstreaker retorted, taking the lights off as carefully as he could. "Don't you know what Christmas is?"

"I've only been here a few months, Yellow, how am I supposed to know what it is?"

The golden warrior stiffened at the usage of his first name but made no comment about it. "You seem to like the humans; I thought you'd have figured it out by now. Or have you grown thick with old age?"

"I do like the humans. They remind me of the Kikri in some ways. But none of them told me about this Christmas thing. Is it a ritual of theirs?" Hearing that this 'Christmas' thing belonged to the natives of this planet piqued his interest. There was nothing that fascinated him more than the holidays of other creatures. He'd grown homesick for his last assignment, on a moon of the Igii, and their many festivals. Something like this would go a long way to relieve that.

"Yeah," Sideswipe humored his elder brother's curiosity as he and his brother continued to decorate the tree. "Some of them believe it's the day their god was born. A lot of them just use it as a day to spend with their friends and family." He looked down for a moment before continuing his efforts. Sunstreaker said nothing, but dutifully decorated his side.

"And what about the Autobots? It looks like you guys celebrate the festival too. What do you do for it?"

"Jazz usually is in charge of decorating the Ark, he'll probably recruit you for it," Sideswipe shrugged. "Me and Sunny have our tree. Hound won't exactly let us cut it down to bring inside."

The tree, now that it was gradually beginning to adorn the colored lights, did have a… special look to it. An attractive, festive one that was made that much nicer by the snow still drifting down. Perhaps it was this strange yet peaceful sight that made Flattop speak again. Maybe it was what Sideswipe had said about spending this alien holiday with friends and family. "What about blue?"

"Blue?" Sunstreaker asked. "What the slag are you talking about?"

"Lights," the flier clarified. "I think some blue lights might look good with them too, don't you?" He smiled a little at them, offering them peace in their current cold war.

The yellow twin snorted at the suggestion while the red one looked at him like he had grown an extra pair of wings. "I think the lights are fine the way they are," Sunstreaker rejected the peace offering soundly. He had no need of his elder brother's meaningless words or his dumb riddles. If Flattop wanted to apologize and even try to make things right between them, he would have to do better than that.

It was just a few lights for some festival he didn't really understand. Yet Flattop still stung from the rejection, and he felt the cold air just a little bit more. He stepped back a little, feeling his feet sink into the white powder, but he did not leave entirely. It was a time for family, according to the pair, and some part of him decided he should stay out with them despite their outright dismissal.

As he looked back at the soft landscape around them, he didn't see the snowball heading his way until it was too late. It hit against his helm with an audible crunch, momentarily shocking him with the cold and wetness of it. He turned to find the perpetrator, and was met with two pairs of optics, each as innocent as the day they were created. But he did notice the small bit of white that clung to Sideswipe's ebony hand, and the insolent look on his face.

That was it. He was sick of this. He was sick of them treating him like some disease and he was sick of trying to make things better between them. With a great kick, the jet sent a spray of snow in both twins' direction.

"Hey, watch it!" Sunstreaker snarled, kicking some back only to receive double the amount in return. "What the slag is your problem, anyway?"

"If you can't take it, baby brother, don't dish it out," was the easy reply, hiding his anger with playfulness like he always had.

Sideswipe took this challenge to heart and threw another ball at his brother's head with as much force as he could muster. "Slag off," he growled. "We don't want you here."

Together, the pair tried to drive off the elder mech, flinging insults just as easily as the snowballs. He fended them off as best as he could, managing to hold his own well enough. Had the snow been anything but, some real damage would have been done that night. Thankfully the worst of the battle wounds consisted of three very tired, very cold bots with moods to match.

"Why are you even here on Earth?" Sunstreaker demanded vehemently, throwing another snowball at the blue and red. "Why can't you just leave us alone?"

Flattop ducked, the white projectile harmlessly hitting the ground behind him. "What are you talking about? I'm here on assignment just like you are."

"What kind of assignment?" Sideswipe hissed next. "Who sent you?"

Before the jet could respond to that, the other went on. "You can just go back to the other generals and Pinch and tell them you failed!"

"Failed at what, you little slaghead?" he demanded incredulously. That's it, they were talking nonsense. The four million years spent in stasis had affected their reasoning circuits. Not able to stand their little knowing looks, he doubled his attack, flinging as much snow at them as he could.

"Admit it, the only reason you're here is because you were sent here to spy on us," Sideswipe snarled, crouching defensively. He shook himself, brushing all the snow off his body before rounding upon his elder brother. "You're trying to keep control over us again just like before."

Another snowball to the chest. "You're nothing but Pinch's little puppet." Both sets of optics were glittering and hard. Unforgiving.

Wings snapping out at an angle, Flattop glared at his brothers, another ball of snow and ice clenched in his fist. Throwing it with as much force as he could muster, he fought back tirelessly. "Don't think I slagging know that?" he demanded of them, letting all the pain he'd ever felt come out at last. Every bit of resentment and jealousy was released with each snowball he threw. "I was his puppet, I know that! My whole life had to stop the cycle you two were created. Everything was about _you_! You were the only ones he cared about; I was just his way of shaping you the way he wanted."

"So you admit it," Sunstreaker hissed, kicking a great flurry in his face. "Enjoy it, did you? Did you like torturing us like he did?"

"Where the closets your idea too?"

"None of it was my idea! That's the slagging point!" He managed to hit the red twin dead in the face this time. "I had less of a choice than you did." Panting slightly, he stopped for a moment. "I was his slagging puppet, don't you think I wanted to escape all that? Why do you think I liked working off-planet so much? Believe me, you two, I wanted to be away from him just as badly as you did."

There was silence as each brother soaked in what was said. The twins knew what sort of power their creator could wield over a mech. In the middle of their training, before they learned what 'choice' was, he could make them do anything. He could have pointed them in any mech's direction and ordered them to attack. And they would have. But Flattop… he'd never learned 'choice,' had he? All he knew was obedience and loyalty. And even millions of years after he was considered a full adult, he could still be manipulated. They'd just never thought he would realize all that himself. But his words were too sincere to be faked. He knew he was a puppet just as they did. And he had done the only thing he knew how. He'd escaped.

"We're the same," he insisted, staring at his brothers for what seemed a megacycle, glaring into each set of optics. The jet slumped to the ground in a huff, shivering a little from the sudden wet and cold sensations on his backside. "You two slaggers… I did what I could to protect you. I hate him; you're my brothers and he forced me to do all that to you and you were just sparklings"

With an unreadable glance to the other, the twins approached the elder brother. Their movements were cautious still, as though they expected him to lash back out. All the fight was gone from him, however, and he had no other wish than to sit in the snow and be left in peace.

The only sounds for a long time were the slowing pants of the trio as they sat side by side watching the snow fall around them. It was cold out, even for mechanical beings, and the water getting into their systems was certainly not helping anything either. But they did not move, sitting in the soft glow of the twins' Christmas lights.

Unable to take the silence much longer, Flattop braced his hands against the white covered ground to push himself up. His yellow brother's voice stopped him. "You know," Sunstreaker mused aloud. "Maybe the tree could use some blue lights this year."


	7. Travel

A/N: Trying something a little different for this one. And before you say 'hey, isn't that the femme from…' Yes, yes she is. Question abated. ; )

Title: Beneath the Rubble  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Travel (#6)  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 2099  
Pairings: Hinted Flattop/Pursuit  
Summary: He was bored before. One little trip south promises to make life much more interesting.  
Other Notes: Flattop is around 3.6 million years old. Pursuit belongs to PuraJazzBot aka PuraJo and is used with permission.

When he said he'd always wanted to go to Praxus, this wasn't exactly what he'd meant.

"Can't you go any faster?" he called back to the larger flier beside him impatiently. "The place could be leveled by now."

The brown transport jet gave a good-natured grumble of his engine. "Hey, you try carrying half of what I am and go this fast. Most of the others have gone on ahead anyway, why not follow them? I'll be along soon enough."

"Yeah, but who'll be around to cover for you?" Flattop reasoned back. "Sorry, Nosedive, but you're not exactly the ace of the fleet if you know what I'm saying."

Snorting, the other mech replied indignantly, "I can do fine on my own. Besides, they need you if there's still any 'Cons in the area."

"But…"

"The medics are safe as are all my supplies. I'm not going to drop them out of my bay the cycle you leave. Now would you get going already? You're just itching to hurl yourself through the stratosphere going I don't wanna know how fast. Now shoo, you're making me twitchy." And that, apparently, was that as far as the older flier was concerned.

Flattop needed no more prompting from Nosedive, gunning the throttle for all it was worth. He shot through the air, rolling into a few barrel rolls for fun. It had been too long since he'd been able to stretch his wings. Were he off-planet at his usual assignments, he could fly all he wanted. Here though, on a war-torn world, he was not able to just shoot off in any direction. It was simply too dangerous. It was probably too dangerous now to be doing as he was, but the young jet just didn't care at that point. He needed to _move_!

Coming out of his rolls, Flattop descended slightly below the ceiling for a moment. This wasn't Praxus, but he knew the same fate had befallen it. Much of the city was in smoking ruins and the parts that were still standing may as well _be_ smoking ruins. And there didn't seem to be a single living soul down there.

'We came too late,' he thought to himself morosely, diving lower to skim over the wreckage. His sleek form cut through thick black smoke like a blade, only to come out the other end to see the same images. 'There's nothing left to save anymore.'

With a wag of his wings to acknowledge the dead, the jet sped off toward Praxus. No matter how fast he went, it seemed he couldn't escape the dead cities. On and on it went with no end in sight.

At last he made out the borders of the former city of Praxus. If anything, this city looked to be the worst hit out of all the ones he'd passed that day. None of the more expensive spires were still standing; in fact not much of anything was still standing much less in one piece. The military bot-turned-instructor knew he and the others would be hard-pressed to find anyone still alive, even if it was just a day after the attack reports came in.

"Nice of you to join us, Topper," a voice came in over the comlink. It was Wayfarer, an old friend of his from the Academy just a level below him. "For a cycle I thought you weren't coming."

"And leave me out of the action, 'Fare?" Flattop responded in a voice much lighter than his mood. "Being a teacher didn't mellow me out that much"

"Not much action, I'm afraid," his friend replied, a bit more somber now. "Just a clean up job it looks like. Search and Rescue if there's anyone left alive in this place."

The jet finally touched down where Wayfarer and most of the others were gathered. He looked around when he transformed, hardly believing what he was seeing anymore. His spark clenched for a moment, thinking of all the dead that must be here, then it relaxed. Calmed. Almost seemed numbed from the hurt all around him. Yet his voice was softer than it was before, his usual flippancy toned down completely. "Did they find anyone yet?"

The smaller orange mech nodded, following Flattop's gaze. "A few. Mostly just bodies though. One mech, a kid really, he looks like he might make it. Scared to death and babbling about all sorts of things, but… he might be the only one to pull through."

Flattop took a deep breath and nodded at the information. "Any sign of 'Cons still around?"

Wayfarer shrugged, "nothing more than a straggler or two. We pretty much got them all. If you want to do a circuit, though, feel free. Most of our fliers are helping the Search and Rescue teams. Is there anyone coming in behind you?"

"Yeah, a transport named Nosedive with some medics and supplies on-board. Told me to go on ahead. He shouldn't be more than a few more cycles." Transforming back into his Kikri jet form, Flattop rose into the sky, continuing the conversation with his comlink. "I'm gonna take a look around and check the perimeters. Don't want anyone sneaking in that shouldn't be."

"Alright. Radio in if you see anything."

"Will do." He soared up into the sky, heading for the northern sector first. Banking lazily down and left, he skimmed over the top of the wreckage, optics and sensors on the lookout for anything still alive down there, friendly or hostile.

He didn't pick up anything up at all until he was nearing the western gate. It was faint at first, barely a signal at all. But it was something. Transforming, the red and blue mech descended right over the faint life sign, weapons drawn. He wouldn't put it passed the Decepticons to leave an injured fellow behind, but an injured enemy was still a dangerous enemy.

"Hello?" he called out in case it was a civilian. "Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"My name is Flattop, I'm an Autobot military officer." He looked around, plasma rifle pointed toward the ground, but finger on the trigger. "I'll defend myself if I have to, but I don't want to hurt anyone. Where are you? If you can hear me, make some noise. There are medics waiting nearby."

Again nothing. It was possible the life form was too weak to respond, or in some other way unable. Great, this just made his job that much harder. His sensors were giving him a general area, but with all the electricity still running through exposed wires and the like, it was too difficult to pinpoint the source. Just as he thought he might need to call in a larger crew to help, there was movement out of the corner of his optics.

Frowning, he approached a pile of burnt out barrels near a toppled building. Again, there was a movement of… something. Wings twitching in agitation, he pulled the barrel of his rifle toward the sky and knelt down carefully to remove a piece of shielding. He tossed the plating aside and stood up, looking down at just what he'd found. To his surprise it wasn't a Decepticon at all, but an injured femme, nearly too weak to move.

Subspacing his weapon immediately, Flattop knelt back down, brushing off the remaining debris carefully off her. "Hey, are you ok?"

Mentally he smacked himself. Wow, Topper, now there was a stupid question. Leaking from various wounds in her body, the ebony and silver femme looked like she could barely be worse off. Half of a door wing was snapped off as well, and her blue optics flickered now and then as she stared up at him.

Sending a silent comm. back to Wayfarer, Flattop carefully scooped up the femme into his arms. "It's alright," he said. "I've got you now." He cradled her against his chest, trying not to hurt her any more than necessary.

"Pura," the femme whispered finally.

"Pura," he looked at her. "Is that your name?"

The femme shook her head. "Have you found her? She's my creation. I told her to go underground." Her head tilted back to stare up at him, optics wide. "Tell me she's alright."

Flattop shook his head, "I'm sorry, but I just got here. I don't know if they picked up any femmes from Praxus." Underground… not much safer than aboveground. The old tunnels liked to cave in, and the battles raging above would certainly help facilitate that. Not to mention the rather… unpleasant things that tended to crawl around under there. Both sentient and non.

"I have to find her," she said softly, cradling a burnt hand to her chest.

"No," he corrected gently. "What you _have_ to do is let me get you to a medic. You're injured and undercharged. And that's a nasty combination, trust me."

"You can't stop me," her optics hardened stubbornly.

For a moment he just stared at her incredulously as he made his way back to the center. "Lady, at this point, a petro-puppy could knock you down. You're going to a medic, alright?"

The femme shook her head, but still made no move to struggle, "she could be hurt. I sent her down there; it's my job to bring her back."

Sighing he shook his head, a bemused smile on his lips. "Look, if you promise to get checked out by the medics, the nanoclick you're given the go-ahead I'll offer you my own pair of wings to the cause. Just don't make this any harder than it has to be, ok?"

An optic ridge rose. "And why are you agreeing to help me? She isn't your creation; you don't have any obligation to do anything."

He chuckled lightly, a wing flicking in amusement. "Could name a coupla reasons, not the least of which being that I am slagging bored out of my turbines. A little adventure now and then is good for the spark."

"How do I know you aren't just some…"

"A creep? Trust me, I've been called worse." He grinned, "if I was going to hurt you, I would have done it by now. I'm perfectly harmless."

"True, I did see you shouting up and down the road, waving that gun around," she replied, smirking a little. "Were you actually trying to intimidate or is that how you always are?"

Laughing, he looked back down at her. "Can't blame a mech for trying. And do you have a name? I know your creation's name, but not yours."

She paused before nodding. "Pursuit."

"Pursuit… nice to meet you, then. Wish it could be under better circumstances. Name's Flattop, but you probably already know that." He shifted her slightly to make her more comfortable. "So tell me, Pursuit, any idea where your Pura might be headed? She can't stay down there forever."

Pursuit nodded, "we agreed to meet at Iacon. Her brother is there as well, it's the safest place for her right now." Her face fell into thought. Probably thinking of her creations, he thought. It was bad enough to have lost everything, nearly losing your own life on top of it. But to not know if your creations were alive or dead… His spark went out to her, and resolved his decision to help her.

"Then once you're better, I'll take you to Iacon and we'll see if we can't find them."

"You… you said you were an officer in the military. Is that true?" her voice was quieter now, more hesitant.

"Yup. In a bit of a… retirement at the moment, but I should be back in the thick of things soon enough. Why?"

"My other creation, Prowl, he is as well. Do you know him? We lost contact with him when he left home."

Prowl… the name was familiar. He knew he'd heard it somewhere, but when exactly escaped him. Not that it mattered that much at this point. Not remembering where he'd heard the kid's name wasn't going to help them any. "No," he shook his head regretfully. "Can't say that I do. Doesn't mean I can't ask around with some guys that I know though."

Her optics lit up with hope, and he was pleased to see that he had put it there. "Thank you, Flattop," she said. "You don't know what this means to me."

"No, probably not," he nodded with a smile. "But I said I'd help and I will. Now let's get you back. The sooner you get better, the sooner we can get started. I've always wanted to go to Iacon."


	8. Overwhelmed

A/N: I was challenged to keep it under 800 words. Close, but no cookie. Gah, curse you Jo! ; )

Title: All Stressed Out (and no one to choke)  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Overwhelmed (#7)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 883  
Pairings: Flattop/Pursuit  
Summary: Things just keep piling up until he just can't take it anymore.  
Other Notes: No spoilers.

"Sir! Sir, about next week…"

"I said _no_, Tripout, you know the rules."

Still the 4th Level continued to trail him. Normally Flattop would admire such persistence, for it was his own persistence that got him to where he was in life. A cadet that could make such a request and stick by it was to be admired. However, this young one was just showing this persistence at the wrong time to the wrong instructor.

"Sir, you've seen me fight, you know I can beat half of them into the…"

Wings out to the side in irritation, the young instructor swiveled around to glare at the boy. "The rules are there for a reason, _Cadet_ Tripout," he hissed. "The tournament is only open to 5th Levels and up. End of story."

Tripout's light sapphire optics betrayed the hurt he felt at being dismissed so by his favorite instructor, but his face hardened stubbornly. "Sir, with all due respect, I can…"

"I don't care if you're Sentinal Prime's sparkling and can beat half the army in combat. You're _not_ competing." The red and blue fixed the younger bot with a hard stare. Normally he was the one receiving such looks from his own creator, but he managed to duplicate it flawlessly.

The cadet looked away under the harsh look from his usually merry teacher, not backing away but not trying again either. He knew a warning glare when he saw it and he knew not to push any further. Instead he let the Intel officer stalk away, sensing it was in everyone's best interest to do so.

Not giving the hurt cadet another thought, Flattop walked as fast as he could toward his quarters. He didn't want to see another living being for the rest of the night at least. His frazzled processor wouldn't be able to deal with it. One of these days he was just going to snap and end someone's life.

"Computer," he growled once the door was closed behind him. "Play back today's incoming messages."

"_Flattop, this is Triggerpinch. Where are those letters I told you to get from Steelback? I know he gave them to you, you lazy…"_

"Next."

"_Sir, this is Cyberclaw. We've been wondering if you've taken a look at our recommendation forms yet. Commander Gravesi…"_

"Next."

"_Hey Topper, it's Acer. Where are you, man? We haven't seen you in forever, and we've been starting to think one of the cadets ate you alive. Anyway, me and the guys are going out tonight…"_

"Next!"

"Primus, Topper, keep it down. Or do you want the other half of the campus to hear you too?"

The jet swiveled around, a threat already on his lips that he had to choke down. "'Suit? What are you doing here?"

Pursuit crossed her arms a little, looking as though she were trying to decide whether she was annoyed or amused at him. "I got sick of waiting downstairs for you. You were going to take me out tonight, remember?"

Oh slag! He knew he'd forgotten something. With all the work that had been piled on top lately, the mech had simply let it slip his mind. "'Suit! I'm sorry, I just got held up in a meeting, and then I had some cadet…"

"Don't worry about it," she frowned, stepping closer. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." He turned back to his scattered datapads, trying to reorganize everything. He had a foul temper when pushed and he knew it. The femme didn't need to see that side of him. "Just busy that's all."

She wasn't fooled by the casual tone; she knew him better than that. If it wasn't the slight hunching of the shoulder that gave him away, or his ducked head, it was the way his wings stuck out stiffly at near 60 degree angles. "With what? You look terrible, Top."

The instructor shrugged a little, staring down at his desk. "Work's been… busy lately. It's hard to keep up sometimes."

A hand came to rest on one of his stress-tight wings, and he found himself relaxing almost despite himself. "Take a break from it then. Get your mind off things."

"I can't," he shook his head, though he did not pull from the soothing touch. "If I put it off, it'll just get worse. I need to just sit down and…"

"Shut up and do what you're told, Flattop," she retorted, swatting him. "Come and walk with me. It won't kill you. In fact it'll probably do you some good."

Sighing, he turned around, looking at her with half amusement and half exasperation. "Are you seriously trying to drive me insane or does it just come naturally, 'Suit?"

The femme from Praxus smiled up at him, glad to see that he'd already calmed down quite a bit since she came in. "A little of both I think. Now are you coming or do I have to drag you by your turbines?"

Flattop chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, walking with her out of his quarters. "I'm coming, you crazy femme. But this isn't getting any of my work done faster I hope you realize."

She shrugged, unaffected. "That depends, is there anything I can do to help when we get back?"

"…How good are you at forging my name?"


	9. Fever

A/N: Yep, see? I haven't fallen off the face of the planet after all!

Title: He Could've Said Something  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Fever (#8)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 1,508  
Pairings: Flattop/Pursuit  
Summary: His mind's ablaze and he can't cool it down  
Other Notes: No spoilers. Flattop is around 10 million years old here. This is after the Ark is awakened, and Pura and Blue Wing sent to Earth. This is left purposely vague in some areas, but if it's confusing in the wrong sort of way let me know and I can always fix.

"He can't do this!" Another expensive ornament sailed into the wall, shattering into a million pieces.

"Topper, you have to calm down…" her pleas fell on deaf audios.

"He can't! Primus fraggit, he's supposed to be… aargh!" this time a small end-table went flying.

"Top, that's _enough_!"

The furious blue and red turned to his mate, wings perfectly parallel to the floor and such a glare on his face that Pursuit could tell without a doubt whose son he was. "It's not enough. It's _never_ enough! Not for him!"

Truthfully, Flattop's temper always took Pursuit off-guard at least a little every time it reared its ugly head. He was often unpredictable, sometimes lashing out in his rage. Yet to this day he had never once come close to striking her or another female. Unfortunately whatever sway femmes had over him didn't extend to mechs and Pursuit knew that if she didn't stop this now, he would just go out and pick a fight somewhere again.

It was for this reason that she stood her ground, knowing it was better to catch this cyberwolf around the neck before it got the chance to bite. "Calm down, Flattop, we can figure this out."

"There's nothing to figure out!" he cried. "The mech is completely obsessed! You weren't there, 'Suit, you don't know. He's supposed to…"

"Supposed to what, Top?" she scowled, putting her hands on her hips. "Supposed to be dead? Well we all know he's not."

"No slag, Pursuit," he snorted, lifting his chin. "I kind of figured that one out all by myself."

Her lazuli optics narrowed. "Don't you talk to me like that, Flattop. This isn't my fault."

"Oh and I suppose it's mine, huh?" he grabbed a crystal glass and threw it at the wall where it joined the shattered remains of half a dozen other belongings. "Just like it's mine all the other times too? You know who you sound like, Pursuit? You sound just like…"

"Shut up!" the smaller femme roared, marching right up to him and slapping the irrational, fevered mech across the face. That had been her favorite glass too!

The blow, while didn't actually hurt, acted like a bucket of cold water, silencing him just long enough for his frustrated mate to take over this one-sided conversation. "Listen to yourself!" she cried. "You've completely lost your mind!"

"Me?" His optics grew wide incredulously. "What about _him_? You didn't hear him, you don't know! He just goes on and on about _them_! Totally obsessed like…"

"Like you?" she interrupted curtly. "Who's the one that's obsessed here, Top? Him or you?" She didn't let him so much as open his mouth to answer before she ploughed on. "All you've done since he called you is go on and on about him! _You're_ the one obsessed, Flattop, and worse than he'll ever be."

"But he didn't so much as ask about Tri or me. He didn't even say…"

"Say what?" she demanded, cutting in again. "What did you expect him to say? That he was glad to see you? That he missed you? That he was relieved you and Triage survived?"

The angry but pained look on her bondmate's face told the ebony femme that that was exactly what he expected to hear. What he _wanted_ to hear. And honestly she couldn't blame him entirely for that. It's what he'd always wanted to hear and after so many millions of years, at a time like this, if ever there was a time to say such things, it would be now.

"Look, Top," she said, her voice more gentle than it had been before. "Did you really expect him to say that? After all this time?" She reached out and touched his unmarked cheek, not surprised to feel how taut he was. The jet was ready to snap again at the slightest provocation. But this needed to be said, however he would react.

"He doesn't love you, Topper, and nothing you or anyone else does or says will ever change that. He's incapable of love. You have to stop obsessing over this before it turns you into another bitter lonely version of him." Her lips curled into a sad smile, seeing so much of the father in the son already. Too much of this and he would be pushed irreversibly onto the same path and it was not a path she would walk with him. "I'm asking you not to let this happen. The Flattop I know is very capable of giving love and receiving it. Don't waste all that love on someone who refuses to accept it."

"But he could have said _something_," the flyer said in a tight unhappy voice. Primus, sometimes it seemed like the normally joyful mech was as old as the stars, aged before his time and full of experience. Sometimes his energy and enthusiasm would rival any young mech fresh from the Academy. And other times, times like these, he was just another sparkling still striving for the love of a parent. Triggerpinch didn't deserve him.

"Yeah he could've but he didn't, and _that's_ what you're so mad about. He doesn't own you, Topper, you don't have to do what he says. You _shouldn't_."

At this he let out a heavy sigh, taut wings sliding back down the side to rest at a more comfortable, if not yet normal, 60 degrees. "And that's where you're wrong."

The femme shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"I already told him no, 'Suit. But that slagger…" both wings twitched. "He knows some of them or something. Got them to make it a formal request." He snorted in absolute disgust, fists clenching. "I leave in a week!" The Intelligence officer couldn't help another hate-filled kick at a poor dented couch. "He didn't fragging ask me, he _told_ me! And all for them!"

"Topper, stop it," she took hold of her lover's shoulders, bringing his mind back into focus. "Ssh, love. We'll find a way."

"What way?" he asked. "There is no way aside from desertion, and they'd kill me before we even got the chance to try."

"Then… then we'll find some other way to deal with this." She smiled weakly for his benefit. "I can wait a little while when you do your spy thing."

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "It's permanent."

Permanent? Why that sneaky conniving… Pursuit was beginning to feel the urge to kick and throw things as well, though unlike her headstrong mate the femme knew it didn't always solve problems.

Flattop went on, pulling away from her to pace again. He never was able to stay still for long, especially as upset as he was now. "He's having Tri help him get settled in, but he wanted me to go down to report their progress personally." His dark blue optics narrowed angrily. "They're slagging adults now and he still won't leave them alone."

Like he won't leave you alone, she thought. Yet outloud she said, "I want you to go, Top."

That stopped him right in his tracks. "What? You _want_ me to do what he wants?"

"I didn't say that," she said with a wry smile. "I said I wanted you to go."

"Why? They hate me, 'Suit. If I go…"

"Then you can make your peace with them. Go down and tell him what he wants to hear. But this feud you have with those two has gone on long enough. Now you have the power to change things."

"And what about you?" he asked with a raised opticridge. She was up to something, she always was.

The femme smiled at him serenely. "I'm going too of course."

The wings slid back up a fraction. "No. No. Absolutely not…"

"My two are down there too, you forget. I haven't seen them in years and this is as good an opportunity as any."

"But what would you _do_? They can't just house civilians, 'Suit."

"I'm sure I could find something out there. Besides, I'm an officer's mate. If I can't convince them, I have no doubt you could do it."

That sneaky little femme…

His gaze wandered to a nearby workbench where many various silver and red parts were scattered. "But we were going to have…"

"And we will." Pursuit stepped forward and cupped his cheek again. "We have time. But you have to do this. And for Primus' sake, you need to control your temper."

He chuckled softly, wings finally shifting down to normal. "Sometimes I wonder if you're my mate or my mother."

She laughed and nodded. "Sometimes I wonder which you need more."

Lowering his head to kiss her, the flyer grinned. "A mate. Definitely a mate."

"Well then, my mate, go call who you need to call. I'll start arranging our things."

"And that?" He indicated toward the workbench again.

"We'll take him with us. Now go on," she gave him a gentle shove. "The sooner we start the sooner we can leave."


	10. Insanity

A/N: Oh boys…

Title: Is She Looking?  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Insanity (#9)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 542  
Pairings: Flattop/Tweaker (totally not reciprocated)  
Summary: The age old way to impress a girl…  
Other Notes: Top's an 8th Level in this, so… probably around 2 million?

"Is he nuts?"

"I dunno… he says he can do it."

"So did Mooncrest and you saw what happened to him."

"Hey Acer, Joyride, you two saying slag about me again?"

The two young cadets jumped in surprise as Flattop came up behind them with a large grin. "Aw you know us, Topper," Acer shrugged.

"Yeah it's why I said it," the blue and red smirked. He crossed his arms. "You don't think I can do it."

"Not just that, man, but _why_ do you wanna do it? Pinch ain't so bad that you wanna smear yourself, is he?"

Flattop shook his head, laughter shaking his frame. "Aw I'd never leave ol' Pinchy by himself, you know that. Who would he grump at then?"

"I dunno. Your sister?" Acer suggested, though they all knew it was a rare day when the old engineer yelled at little Triage. The gold and white femme had the habit of winning the hardest of sparks.

"Oh _I _know what it is," Joyride grinned, his optic band flashing with knowing glee. "It's Tweaker isn't it? You're still sore about what she said about you. Am I right?"

With an indignant 'hmph,' the young jet lifted his chin. By now it had circulated through the entire Academy that the cute 9th Level femme had not only rejected Flattop's advances, but that she had done it so spectacularly that it had shut down the flier's bravado for weeks. Since then he had bounced back to his usual self, but it was the opinion of many, his two wingmates included, that he would not take 'no' for a final answer. After all, the little linguist couldn't possibly be running on all cylinders if she even _considered_ rejecting him.

"For your information, lugnut, she doesn't even know I'm up here," he said with as dignified a huff as possible for good measure.

"And I'm guessing the fact that this course is on her way home has nothing to do with it," Acer piped in.

"Or the fact that this so happens to be a weekend where we have leave to go home."

"Or that this is about the time she usually…"

"Ok that's enough!" he snorted, fully and truly found out. "you wanna watch me smoke this course or not?"

Joyride and Acer both grinned widely. "Totally," the latter nodded. "This we _have_ to see."

"If just to tell the coroner why you look like a slab of sheet metal," Joyride couldn't help adding.

"You're just scared, that's all," Flattop retorted, walking over to the edge of the ramp. "You just watch, they'll be talking about this for years."

"Oh we have no doubt of that," one of his friends muttered, but he decided to ignore it. He had to focus, had to become one with the course, the sky, his wings, the air currents…

"Um… Tweaker? What's that?"

Following her friend's finger, the purple and green femme looked up at the sky. She let out a small suffering sigh, watching the intricate and swift flight of the mech braving the notoriously deadly course.

"Just some airhead idiots insane enough to go faster than their processing speed. C'mon, let's get out of here before any splattered bits start raining on us."


	11. Opposite

A/N: Not one of my better ones and I'll admit it. Rather uninspired, but hopefully insightful.

Title: Yin and Yang  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Opposite (#10)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 565  
Pairings: very mild hint at Triage/Acer  
Summary: Two siblings. Two very different people.  
Other Notes: Top's a student… probably in the middle of his training.

A more opposite pair he'd never seen.

"No no no." Flattop readjusted his sister's grip on the pole. "Like this."

Acer hopped onto a nearby bleacher and sat back to watch for a while. They still had plenty of time before he and Flattop had to fly out and meet Joyride for the holo-vid, so he wouldn't disturb the practice.

Triage swung again at her brother who took a simple step to the side, batting her pole away.

Rather than rail at her for making the same mistake twice, Flattop simply retrieved the pole and returned it to her. "You see? You gotta hold it the right way. Get it?"

Triage nodded, blushing in embarrassment. "Yes, I get it. Sorry."

She was always like that from what Acer saw of her. Quiet. Apologetic. Submissive. Nothing like her brash elder brother. Yet when together, the siblings made a good team. They complimented each other's strengths and weaknesses.

The femme started moving again, more confident than before. Just a first year medical student and Flattop insisted on her learning to fight. Acer didn't see the point, really. He doubted there would be any war once it was their turn to leave the Academy. It was just a little skirmish among the elders. Nothing to freak out about. Besides, it wasn't like any medics were being targeted. Triage went to school with Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals alike. She was safe, yet her over-protective brother insisted on her learning how to fight.

Ah well, it wasn't like Acer could really blame him. If nothing else it would be good for her to learn self-defense. The gold and ivory was a pretty one, pretty enough to earn her a share of suitors. With her personality, she was practically begging for trouble one of these days. If it weren't for Flattop and Triggerpinch, Acer might have made a move himself. However, he enjoyed his internal systems right where they were and so let her be.

Triage sparred with her brother, movements smooth and swift. She relied on her petite frame to move quick enough to avoid her brother's blows. He was fast as well, but too big to out-maneuver her. His gift was the power behind his blows, and hers was the speed and precision.

Eventually though, skill and experience won the battle, and she was forced to admit defeat. "You did well," the blue and red said, a proud grin on his face. She smiled back at him, a more subdued version of his. He basked in praise, she quietly accepted it.

"If you two are done, can we get going, Top?" Acer asked, hopping down from his seat. He gave a nod of greeting to the young femme, but not so friendly as to accidentally set off Flattop's alarm bells. Primus, the mech was too overprotective for his own good sometimes.

"Yeah, I'm coming. You need a lift back?" Flattop asked his sister.

She just waved him off with a small smile. "I'll be fine. You go on and fly."

Flattop looked unconvinced, but did not press the issue. "Alright, let's fly Ace!"

Realizing he'd been staring at Triage for too long, the red and white flier wished her a good night and prepared to take off. He could hear her quiet reply just over the loud roar of his friend's engines. What a strange pair of siblings indeed.


	12. Sweet

Title: Don't Forget, Don't Regret  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Sweet (#11)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 935  
Pairings: mild hint of Top/Suit  
Summary: Sometimes the best way to cheer someone up is to make them forget for a moment.  
Other Notes: Not long after Pursuit's rescue from Praxus

"Are you sure it's ok?"

"Trust me, doll, it's fine." Flattop offered one of his more charming smiles to the femme at his side. "No one cares what I do with my class as long as the brats learn something once in a while and no one dies. Not too often anyway."

Pursuit sincerely hoped he was joking.

She regretted agreeing to come nearly the nanoclick they walked into the training hall. All of the cadets were staring at her and Flattop with matching knowing smirks. Perhaps they didn't know her name or anything about her. Perhaps they didn't even know of her, but they didn't need to know. One look at their instructor and how he stood beside the femme told them all they needed to know, and this made them that much more curious about this new berthmate of his.

"Alright, get your sorry afts back into your seats," Flattop tossed, not particularly caring at the moment about Pursuit's unease with the whole situation. The cadets obeyed, if only to see what their instructor would do next. Well, that and the last kid who disobeyed an order was stuck doing laps for the rest of the evening.

Pursuit stood to the side as she watched the blue and red lead the class. The terminology was foreign to her, but it looked like a lesson on hand-to-hand and blade combat. Something that Flattop said the army lacked. For all his complaints about his job, the Intelligence officer really was a good teacher. The students listened intently as he spoke, his own passion for the art of war seeping into their own bodies.

It was a passion she didn't understand and perhaps never would. Just as she didn't understand Prowl's passion for it. Was he once one of these students, learning to kill as though it were just an intricate dance that needed perfecting? Well, if such a thing could be perfected, it would be her Prowl who'd do it. She could only be thankful that Pura's passion didn't seem to follow her brother's.

The femme was so lost in her memories of the two missing creations that she hardly noticed when the cadets stood and quickly cleared the floor of seats. The verbal lesson was done. Now it was time for them to show what they'd learned.

The students stood in a perfect practiced line, backs straight and optics forward. Whatever their personal opinions of their unorthodox teacher, here he was Primus and they waited for his next order like a legion of elite in front of their Prime.

"Smackback. Zip." Those were the only words Flattop had to utter and the class knew exactly what to do.

The two mechs whose names had been called stepped forward into the empty spaces and faced each other. With one bow to their opponent and another to Flattop, they settled into a starting position.

"Begin!" Flattop barked in such a way that even the observing Pursuit snapped to attention.

At first the pair did nothing, and Pursuit wondered if they either didn't understand his orders or if they were disobeying them. Then the femme looked into their optics and knew it was neither.

Together, triggered by an unseen cue, both students flew at each other, mimicking the techniques Flattop had taught them. They'd learned their lessons well, for Pursuit could catch the new methods being used right away.

Flattop obviously knew each of his cadets' capabilities well, for even though neither student had used these new techniques before, they were still evenly matched. The other cadets cheered them on, and even Pursuit found herself rooting for the smaller Zip. Had her Prowl done this as well? Mock-fighting with a classmate to the cheers of his peers, competing for the approval of his teacher?

She turned to ask Flattop this question, but he was in heavy discussion with an older-looking cadet. Shadow, she later learned her name was, chosen by the Academy's deans to prove herself by helping the younger cadets learn. Only the most advanced and mature students got this position, and among the youngest ever appointed was Pursuit's own eldest creation.

Pursuit looked back at the duel just in time to see little Zip gain the upper hand and pin his larger opponent. The battle had been won. The lesson was complete and class was dismissed.

"Well? What did you think?" the young instructor asked his guest as they returned to his quarters. "Think these motorheads stand a chance out there?"

"It was wonderful!" she exclaimed, excited by what she had seen. Things didn't look so hopeless now for their side when seeing the bright youthful cadets training together. "You do a good job with them, Top."

He grinned at her good mood, a great deal different from the somber femme she'd been following their earlier failure that day. He'd hoped to figure out Pura and Prowl's location by this morning which was the reason she was here at all. "Hey, I just try to make sure they aim straight."

"They're great," she assured him, cheered up exactly as he had planned. "Do you think… my Prowl knew those things?" Surely if he'd known, he would be safe now. Whirling like Zip and striking like Smackback, he would be invincible to the Decepticons what threatened him.

One of Flattop's wings twitched ever so slightly as he sensed her good mood at risk of failing as she was reminded of what she lost. "Beautiful," he replied. "Who do you think it was who taught me how to do it right when I was in Shadow's place?"


	13. Bitter

Title: The Maintenance and Care of Little Sisters  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Bitter (#12)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 1,003  
Pairings: hint of Triage/someone else  
Summary: He takes his duty as brother a little too far sometimes… and resorts to methods more commonly used by their creator  
Other Notes: After both have been transferred to Earth.

She was looking at him again, and Flattop knew he had lost her attention. He'd noticed her feelings for the black and white not long after her transfer, and he was beginning to suspect her affections were returned.

At first, he hadn't worried about it. He'd figured it was a simple infatuation, a crush that would never be realized. It had happened before and nothing had ever come of it, so why now? And why _him_? Of all the mechs on base, there could hardly be a worse one for her to choose. He wouldn't love her like she needed to be loved. He wouldn't hold her like she was something precious, or put her happiness above all else in his life. That was the mech she deserved, and Flattop would surrender her to no one less than that.

There was no talking to her about it though. Often, she would deny the attraction even existed, and when pushed, she would either fight back or nearly break down in tears.

Yes, she was far too fragile for such a mech. She needed looking after. Protecting. Her crush couldn't give her the love and attention she deserved. He wouldn't. Primus forbid it ruin his perfect infallible image.

Flattop spoke again, hoping to distract her wandering optics. "So I hear Ratchet has you running ragged. Having a rough time of it?"

"Hm?" she looked back at him, flushing a little. "Oh, not so much. He just wanted to be sure I was qualified for the position."

"He's the one who gave you your crosses in the first place," her brother snorted. "Why would you be any less qualified 5 million years later?"

"Just to be sure. It isn't good to rely on someone if they can't do the job. Remember last month?"

He did remember last month. They'd almost lost some good 'bots that time. It was an ambush and it was because of Superion alone that anyone survived at all. Flattop had been hurt badly as well as a number of others including Bluestreak, Cliffjumper, Ironhide, and the twins. _He_ had been among the injured as well, one of the worst off. Flattop remembered how Pursuit had hovered over him the whole time. Both of them.

Triage had been a good doctor to them all, but she had done her share of mothering too. Not to her brother so much as to _him_. It made Flattop sick to see it. Staying extra shifts, moving her chair close by at night… didn't she worry for Flattop too? Wasn't he more important than some mech who couldn't love her back?

She'd started talking again and he struggled to keep up. "…imagine if we'd lost someone. Especially if it was because one of us medics were incompetent. How terrible it would be…"

He didn't want her worrying about something like that. Triage was a good medic; it was because of her that the twins were created at al! She was so talented, so special, that she deserved to be treated as such.

There wasn't a mech on base who could treat her like that, _him_ least of all. Flattop was beginning to doubt such a mech existed at all who could be worthy of her. Oh sure, there were a few out there in the galaxy he might approve of, but they were few and far between.

He took notice of her watching him expectantly and finally realized he was supposed to answer. "You worry too much, sis," he grinned easily. He wasn't in Intelligence for nothing. "Relax. With you, Ratchet, and First Aid around we'll all be taken care of. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't been given your own chief position in a unit yet."

Triage blushed at the praise, though she was used to such words from her brother. "I'll be assigned to one when they think I'm ready for it," she said as she always did. "It's a lot of work you know."

Yes it would be. Sleepless nights and long days were quite common for medical officers, especially new ones. Triage would barely have any time left for herself…

…Or for others! Oh she'd make time for her brother, she always did. But a transfer to a new post with a leadership position would no doubt put to rest any hint of a relationship with this new mech. What's more, he knew quite a few of the Black Ops 'bots personally, so there was little chance of losing track of her or of anything happening in his absence.

Yes, that was the solution! He could have her off-planet in a week. In fact, he'd heard a rumor that the Black Ops themselves were looking for a medical officer. Even more perfect.

"Top?" she asked in a soft concerned voice. "Is everything alright? You've seemed very distracted all day."

"Huh?" he looked back over to her, angry with himself for making his already stressed sister worry further. "No," he assured her. "Honest. I've just been trying to think of a solution to a problem I've been having lately."

"A problem? Perhaps I can help," she offered hopefully. "Sometimes just having an extra set of audios around can make the process go faster."

"Thanks, li'l sis, but I think I have it figured out." He stood up and leaned over the table to give an affectionate kiss to the side of her helm. "I need to get going. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled, glad that he'd solved his dilemma. "Take care, brother."

"You too, sis." He threw out his mug on the way out, glancing back at the doorway. With no brother to distract her, Triage had gone back to giving shy looks over at the mech of her affections. He didn't let it bother him too much this time. The next time he saw her, Flattop would hopefully have great news in the form of a promotion and transfer. Yes, his problem would be solved in no time at all.


	14. Sour

Title: Your Eyes are Just Stained Glass  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Sour (#13)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 416  
Pairings: Pursuit/Flattop  
Summary: sometimes the change is so obvious… and sometimes it's not there at all.  
Other Notes: Takes place some time after the two have met and bonded.

You're getting better. Every day you're getting better. Don't you realize it? Every day you smile with a bit more honesty, and you're quicker to forgive than the day before.

Did I do anything to create it? Is it partly my doing?

We've joked that I've been as much of a parent to you as a mate. But… I wonder how true that is. Primus knows my soft spot for lost souls, and you yourself know how fiercely I defend my own young ones. But is that how you see me? A mother who is also your mate? Or your mate who is also a mother?

Sometimes I wonder what you think about right before you fly. Your optics seem so far away as you gaze at the horizon, just at the moment you bend your knees and burst off to the one place I cannot follow.

What are you looking for? At that moment, each and every time at that moment, you let layer after layer of your masks fall. The one of arrogance, and that of laughter, and apathy,and hate, and fearlessness.

Do you think of him at that moment? Is he what you're searching for? You can't honestly still think you can earn his love, can you? Is that why you look like that just before you go to the place you've always loved best? Is he the reason you love your wings?

We've argued about this, about him, so many times I've lost count. No matter how many times we argue, and how many times I win, I can't help but think I haven't won at all. For as you improve every day, there are some things about you that won't ever change. You'll still hide beneath your masks first and you'll still want more love. Love that I can't give you and love you won't ever receive.

As much as we joke about it, you really don't see me as a mother, do you? At least, not yours. And as a result, that pain I see, the searching and lost gaze won't ever disappear. I can't cure you of that, and nor can I follow you when you fly.

What can I do, love? Tell me how I can help you. This simple femme can only do so much by herself, and she gets scared when she sees that look in your optics. Every day it seems your optics glow a little warmer, but by sunset they're just stained glass.


	15. Good

Title: The Way You Look At Me  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Good (#14)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 531  
Pairings: Pursuit/Flattop  
Summary: How one pair of optics can melt a spark.  
Other Notes: Takes place after both Pursuit and Flattop have gone to Earth.

The sparkling was exhausted and had curled back into his mother's arms. Not even a day old and he'd already learned so much. It never ceased to amaze Flattop just how incredible a sparkling was. He'd seen it with his sister and then with his younger brothers. Even among his alien friends he'd seen their own little ones in their first weeks of life.

Was he ever so young? Did he ever depend on another like little Charade depended on him and his mate? And did anyone feel for their creation like Flattop felt? Flattop knew he probably wasn't alone in his feelings for a young one of his own creation, yet they welled in him so strongly that he was sure it had never been experienced before and never would again.

Charade was so innocent to this life, so full of trust and unconditional love to all he met. He had a good spark, his mother's compassion, and his father's wit. So much potential lay within that sparkling!

Gently he lay a hand upon that sparkling's forehead, much softer a touch than he used on any other thing before now. Pursuit looked up at him and smiled knowingly. Charade did not so much as stir.

Primus, out of all the darkness and pain that existed within Flattop's warrior shell, how could something so good be produced? How was he capable of creating half of this young being when he'd thought there was so little in himself worth loving?

Had Triggerpinch ever been so humbled by a mere child?

No, of course not. Sparklings were tools. Clay. Things to use and mold and break as he saw fit. Surely if he knew of Charade's existence he might try for him as well. He would have to go through Pursuit and Flattop first! Trying to take away this innocent would be one of the few crimes the old engineer could commit that Flattop would kill him for. He and his brothers and sister were all living testaments to what damage could be caused to a young mind. All were damaged beyond repair and he would die before he suffered his son to the same fate.

Charade was too good for that dark life. Too good even for whatever life a mere Autobot officer could offer him.

Yet he had smiled at Flattop the instant he saw him, recognizing for who he was and offering his love and trust just from that one glance. No one had ever looked at him like Charade did. Not his brothers or sister or mate or friends or wingmates.

And it was the way he looked at Flattop that made him love him unconditionally in return. He loved him in a way he could love no other thing in the universe.

He was aware of Pursuit watching him watching their little red and silver. Normally he was self-conscious of anyone seeing any kind of vulnerability in him, and his mate was no exception. At this moment though, he couldn't care less who saw him like this. For how could anyone see their bright legacy and sparkling right in front of them and not be similarly moved?


	16. Evil

Title: Just Following Orders  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Evil (#15)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 908  
Pairings: none  
Summary: He's a good soldier. He followed orders. So why is that so wrong?  
Other Notes: Takes place just after he graduated from his schooling.

Was this what he was waiting for his whole life? What he'd spent every waking moment working toward?

"You heard me, soldier. Now do as you're told!"

Flattop did not so much as wince at the sharp bark of his commanding officer though inside he was reeling. What kind of order was this? Surely Sentinal Prime would never approve of such a thing!

"Sir, are you really sure we need to…"

"Question me again and I'll have you in on charges of conspiracy and insubordination." The lieutenant glared at him with icy optics. "This settlement has repeatedly given supplies and munitions to the Decepticons and the order to neutralize comes directly from the top. Get to it, all of you. Flattop, I hold you personally responsible. I don't want a single _one_ of those insects alive at the end of this solar cycle. Is that understood?"

His tone was so similar to another certain mech that the young soldier couldn't help but feel a touch of fear at the words. Failure was the worst thing that could happen. It wasn't even an option. If insects must die, then they die. "Aye, sir!"

Firststrike nodded in approval. Just as his old friend had promised him. "Take your wing and take the South side. Don't let a single bug escape."

Bug…? They were sentient intelligent beings. Flattop would hardly call them bugs. Regardless of terminology, the order was given. "Alright," he nodded to his team of four. "I want two on each side of me. We'll take them hard and fast before they have time to retaliate. Any questions?"

No one in his wing said anything, but their gazes spoke volumes. At his side, Joyride gave his friend and commander a mutinous look. They'd all done runs before, and all did things they weren't proud of. Yet this… this was different. This wasn't a building or a block or a sub-district. This was a complete settlement of aliens on a moon that was far from Cybertron and its territory. Yes, some of them had given help and haven't to the Decepticons, but still…

"Ok," Flattop said when there were no questions. He turned away from the glares of his wingmates and prepared his flight and weapons systems. "Let's fly!"

As one, the five Autobots took to the skies, transforming into their jet modes. They quickly got up to cruising altitude where the young leader predicted the usual period of banter and chatter that often preceded a run. It was a good way to relieve jitters so he didn't make much issue of it until it was time to descend. Today, however, there was no joking. No playing, no teasing of any sort. It was like the wing wanted to think about the mission at hand. He didn't want them to think about it though. He didn't want them to judge him for this run when they hadn't blamed him for any other.

Soon the settlement came into sight and the time came to get into formation. "Descend and get into battle formation. Keep communications open and only send relevant messages."

Whatever their opinions of the mission, the wing was well trained and obedient. From this point on, the only one who had to think was Flattop. The rest were merely extensions of himself, performing his will seamlessly. For the past half million years they had all trained and lived and fought together to achieve this special bond, a bond not unlike that of a true mated couple.

With a mere flick of the center jet's wings, the Autobots opened fire. Stratostrike sent every missile and bomb of her impressive arsenal shooting down to the small village. Wayfarer twisted this way and that, firing at any inhabitants he spotted, hostile or not. His movements were sharp and mechanical.

To either side of Flattop, Acer and Joyride dipped over buildings and side streets, taking out any opposition they encountered. This left their leader able to focus on any approaching enemy aircraft. This time, however, there was none. The attack was too quick and unexpected for the primitive society's military to react in time.

The settlement was laid to waste within a megacycle.

During the attack, the wing had spread out, making sure nothing was overlooked. At Flattop's command it reassembled into their usual V formation, making one last sweep of the grounds.

"Mission accomplished," he murmured, for not a thing was left alive or intact within the entire settlement. "Let's go back to the ship."

Together they tilted their nosecones upward, shooting back to their low-flying skyship. Again there was not a word of banter or congratulations though the radio silence ban had been lifted at the conclusion of the run. For himself, Flattop felt little post-mission pride. He couldn't shut off the images from his processor and knew they wouldn't fade for some time to come. Yet he knew also that he'd done the right thing.

This settlement had been labeled a strong threat to the stability of the Autobot military in the region. It was for millions of lives that these few criminals and their families died. Besides, they shouldn't have gotten themselves mixed in with dangerous murderers like the Decepticons anyway. It served them right.

He'd done well. He'd followed orders and completed the mission as his commanders wished. His wing would understand in time surely. Then perhaps they wouldn't blame him so strongly with their silent ignorant glares.


	17. Neutral

Title: Apathy  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Opposite (#10)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 1,087  
Pairings: none  
Summary: Boredom or mercy? Does it matter?  
Other Notes: He's a young commander in this. Before the creation of his brothers.

It was pitiful, really. If not for the fact that he was bored, he might not even have bothered. The enemy already knew his Wing's position by no, for all the good it would do them. The Decepticon camp was destroyed. All but this running survivor were dead.

Acer and the rest of the Wing were doing clean-up back at the camp. Flattop had opted to chase down this poor excuse for a flier instead. There would probably be more fun to be had cleaning up at this rate. This was as exciting as a spar with a First Level cadet!

He weaved lazily to the left, dodging through a wrecked overpass. Cybertron was a planet built upon itself. The "surface level" was always the newest. Constructs built at the beginning of their race's existence was down towards the actual surface of the planet. If it had been organic at one time, no one no longer knew. Not that it mattered really. The past was the past. The present was dull enough as it was.

The young officer used the vertical maze that was the ruined city of Silion to his advantage. His enemy was fast, probably a good deal faster than he in a fair race. Too bad for him, Flattop thought, for this was not a hunt designed to be fair. He was larger than his quarry and would no doubt be expected to fly above the crumbling towers to keep up. That would prevent the smaller flier from also going out into the open where he might be shot down by a more powerful jet. A more experienced fighter would know that Flattop knew this. A smaller flier such as this should take advantage of his speed and take his chances in the open where he could try to outrun the pursuer.

Not this one though… this one gave into his fear of open space and the supposed large mech up there when he could have escaped. This kind of cowardice qualified him to be hunted down like this.

The sharp whine of engines caught his attention. He was getting close. No doubt the stress of the enclosed spaces and the hunt was getting to the small orange Decepticon. Weaving through the buildings and walkways meant he couldn't use his superior speed, practically begging to be cornered. Flattop knew the orange flier could hear the loud and steady thunder of his engines as he got close. Close but unseen… able to approach from any corner, street, or direction.

Yep. He was running scared.

Deciding to mercifully end the chase, Flattop made a few more turns and rose higher. As expected he came right up behind the Decepticon. Too late did the enemy realize he was there and try to ascend to the open and sure safety. A few well-aimed laser shots tore through his wings and caught his engine on fire. A single missile blew him from the sky.

The blue and red Autobot didn't feel much satisfaction as he'd hoped he might. It was just too easy. Too boring. Ah well, perhaps his quarry would still be alive to provide some entertainment after all this.

He transformed to make the going easier and followed the trail of black smoke down a few levels of the ancient city.

Sure enough, the Decepticon lived, though not by much. No fire lasted very long in the thin Cybertronian atmosphere, but it had lasted long enough to do its damage.

Pity… not even the last struggle would be that exciting.

"Wait!" the orange cried in fear as Flattop retracted his hand to form a plasma canon. "Please!" Normally he wouldn't have bothered to listen to such babble. This time though… it was the voice that halted the final blast. It made him look a little closer at his quarry.

The mech couldn't be older than a vorn. Probably half that at most. The plating still looked fresh, and the armor had been hastily attached, not even fully integrated with his shell. The fear in his optics was more than mere cowardice. It was the sharp poignant terror of a youngling in the midst of a nightmare.

"You," Flattop barked, making the Decepticon start as though already shot. "Name, rank, and function."

"I…"

"Now!" Another flinch.

"N-number 97. First class Reconnaissance… Please sir…"

Primus… this one wasn't 10 solar cycles old… A Decepticon, yes. The enemy, yes. He was even a decent shot; Wayfarer could attest to that and would be nursing his left leg and ego for a good time to come. A scraplet this old wouldn't last a vorn before making a sacrifice of himself. The merciful thing to do would be to put him down now.

With a sigh, Flattop retracted his canon and shook his head. "You're a slagging poor excuse for a fighter, scraplet," he told the frightened youth. "You let me get the drop on you too quickly. You're fast and you're a good shot, so slagging use it."

Number 97 didn't move, afraid the slightest twitch would mean his death.

"I don't kill sparklings," he told him. "So the next time I see you, you'd better be an adult. So slagging make sure you make it that long."

Slowly realizing he wasn't about to be vaporized, the young mech uncurled painfully. For this act, both knew Flattop could have his wings taken away. He didn't really care though. There was no sport in killing children and no honor besides.

"Better get back before another Autobot scouting team gets out here. They won't take you so lightly. Now git."

The Decepticon didn't need to be told twice. He stood and limped off into the shadows. It would take a long time to reach his camp on foot, but there was no way he could fly back. Even if he could work his shot systems into staying in the air for more than a cycle, he would be shot down in the next.

Flattop transformed and flew up into the sky over Silion. He didn't want to lead any scouts to the sparkling. And besides, the Decepticon could try to shoot him in the back if he got over his fear too quickly.

When questioned about the chase, all Flattop would say was that the kid had flown off too quickly after losing him in the Silion towers. He normally didn't like to lie, but this time, he figured Primus could forgive this one time he chose a 'bot's life over taking sides.


	18. Shot

Title: William Tell's Lesson  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Shot (#17)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 2,388  
Pairings: Flattop/Pursuit  
Summary: Sometimes meaning well doesn't always cut it.  
Other Notes: Sometime after these two have become mates. Probably right before his transfer to Earth.

"Top, really, I already know how to…"

"Yeah, yeah, but this is different than your little turbo-mouse gun back home."

Pursuit bristled in indignation. "Excuse me?"

But he was in full teacher mode and would have none of her interruptions. "Ok, now it might be a bit heavier than you're used to, but this is one of the lighter ones, and..."

Personally, she thought her rifle was twice as heavy.

Then he was showing her, in painfully slow detail, how to hold it and fire. He warned her about five distinct times to be careful of the recoil and how to aim ever so slightly higher than the target.

"We'll move onto moving targets another time," he assured her gently. "But today I just want you to get the feel of the weapon."

She tried to hold back an amused sigh for his sake, only half succeeding, and nodded dutifully. "But really, love, I can…"

He ignored her completely and continued on with his lesson. Bless him, he did mean well, but he could overdo it sometimes. In fact, when it came to Pursuit or Triage, he tended to overdo it at least once a week. Still, she supposed there were worse faults out there, and let him be. For the moment anyway; he was still rapidly trying even her saint-like patience.

Suddenly, she was aware of her lover sliding in a little _too_ close to her, strong arms wrapping around her waist. Just what had she missed _this_ time by zoning out?

"What are you doing?" she asked, turning her head to face him.

"Making sure you're ok when the rifle recoils," he explained matter-of-factly, thus killing any romantic notions she had about this whole thing. Still, despite it all, his touch was very much welcomed; it had been a little too long since he'd held her so close. Practical though his own reasons may be, Pursuit would take what she got.

Perhaps he had read her thoughts, for his mouth came close to her audio next, sending a soft thrill through the femme. "Alright, now aim…" She did as she was told, ever conscious of his presence.

"Fire." The word was breathed so softly that she couldn't help but shiver as she pulled the trigger. The result of this was a badly shot laser that barely nicked the target.

He didn't make any sly comments or jokes about it. Nothing that might hint that he knew the effect his proximity had on her and her concentration. Nothing at all, except for… "There see? You aimed too high."

She sighed and calmed her body down as he began his lecture anew, walking toward the target to observe where she hit. "It was good for a beginner," he acquiesced gracefully. One of her doorwings twitched. "Now try that again, and this time, try to aim a little lower."

Patience officially run out, the engineer raised the rifle again and set her optics to the sight. Oh it wouldn't hurt him very much, just a slight sting at the most. It would hardly clip the lower edge of the wing.

"Now widen your stance and… Suit? What are you doing?"

"Just hold very still, dearest…"


	19. Possession

Title: A Sacrifice  
Challenge Set: #2  
Challenge: Possession (#18)  
Rating: T  
Word Count: 1,118  
Pairings: Flattop/Pursuit  
Summary: Giving something up in order to gain something more.  
Other Notes: Takes place right after Fever.

He wished the femme would hurry up. More time left to his thoughts left more time for going back on his plan. The trophy was a comforting weight in his arms, one he knew he was going to miss terribly. So that femme needed to hurry before he regretted giving his prize up.

When the small lavender-hued Neutral came back to the storefront, she wore the same perplexed look on her face that she had when he first told her his intentions. "I've asked my boss," she said, explaining where she'd been. "He said we have the equipment to do it… but are you sure?"

Flattop wasn't surprised that she was so unsure. The trophy was incredibly valuable; the crystal used to make it hadn't been seen in such amounts in a long long time. It was, perhaps, the last of its kind. No one would offer it up as willingly as this mech was.

"I have a thousand credits," he assured her, "and I'll give an eighth of the crystal for payment. Is that enough?"

The femme nodded, optics wide. They both knew it was much more than enough. "Y-yes, it's fine."

"Then see to it." He handed her the priceless trophy, fingers lingering on its smooth surface before surrendering it completely. It was first place for a planetary race. It seemed so long ago now… form another age. Back when they could afford to reward a young hot shot flier from Iacon. "I want the crystal to be exactly like I specified in the diagram, understand?"

Another nod.

"I'll be here to pick it up tomorrow before evening watch."

"Tomorrow? But to get it done in time, I'd have to…"

He tossed the creds on the table and turned to go. "Then you'd better get started now. Tomorrow."

If she responded he did not wait to hear it. He had things to do, too many things. The shuttle for Earth left in two days and he had to be on it. If all went well, his mate would follow him in a year following that.

Pursuit… he hadn't been away from her for more than a month since they were bonded. That had felt bad enough, but now he had to somehow last a Cybertronian stellar cycle without her. Well, so long as the femme in the workshop did what she was supposed to do, Pursuit would have something to remind her of him for that time.

He hadn't meant to destroy her crystal bauble. Were he in his right mind, he wouldn't have ever touched it. Yet in his rage following the unexpected meeting with his creator, he had destroyed everything within reach, including his bonding gift for her.

She deserved better, really. Flattop had never really been able to control his temper, and too often left for missions without any warning. The grey and black was patient though and didn't complain much about it. Not even about this new transfer. She just made the best of things and planned around it.

That was why he'd taken his most prized possession and sacrificed it to be melted and reformed into an identical of the shattered gift. Hopefully she would approve of it.

"Where have you been?" Pursuit asked when he walked in the door.

"Nowhere special," he lied. "The guys wanted to go out and do something before the big send-off."

She nodded and went back to work. With his transfer in only a few days, Pursuit wanted all their things packed and ready to go. Not that they had much by way of material possessions, but it all had to go. This apartment would be given to some other bonded couple now that Flattop no longer lived there. Pursuit had intended on finding her own place in the city, but her mate knew better than to allow that. Until she joined him on Earth, she would stay in a single's apartment not far from Acer's and within easy distance of his other three teammates. The Wing would take care of her whether she liked it or not.

"It's nearly finished," Pursuit told him when he handed her a mug of energon. "I can't find that teru crystal trophy of yours though. Where did you put it?

"Oh that," he shrugged, a little surprised at how easily he could fib to her when needed. "I lost that in a Sarek Cube match days ago to Joyride. And you know Joy, he'll have traded it in for a keg of moonshine by now." There, that should keep her from trying to track it down just in case. He'd have to warn his third-in-command about it and train him on the story though.

His flippant attitude to his most prized possession, however, was what tipped her off. "But you loved that trophy," she frowned. "Why would you be so careless and bet on that?"

"W-well it was a high stakes bet…" he explained, voice taking a more teasing tone. "It was either that or your little novels…"

"You wouldn't dare!" she growled, crossing her arms. "Those were signed by Fusion Eclipse herself! I'd remove your wing with pliers first!"

Good, she'd stopped questioning about the trophy… but did she have to get so graphic? Though she did look so cute all fired up like that…

"'Top, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes of course. Pliers. Right. That's what I figured too, so I didn't use them."

"And you'd better not." As if to further prevent her precious twelve-volume set from her bondmate's slight gambling habit, she went to their room and packed the datapads straight away.

"Oh love?" he called out a she hid away her belongings. "I thought we could go out tomorrow night and move you into the Red Towers the morning I leave."

"Go out? But 'Top…" she poked her head out with a concerned frown.

"Hush, I haven't spent any money on you in a whole week and I won't be able to again for another year while I'm gone. Indulge me for one night. Besides, it's my last night on planet and I want to do something nice. I have a surprise for you there." Yes, he'd give her the crystal then. He couldn't wait to see her expression when she sees it come out on the tray with the overpriced energon. It would truly be worth it!

"But how did you get the credits to afford all that?" she couldn't help but ask, flustered that he'd go so far to pamper her yet again.

"Well I may have lost my crystal," he winked. "But I won it big when I bet your old rifle."

Yup… very cute all fired up.


End file.
